Trigger Warnings: This story includes bulimia, anorexia, body dysmorphia, strong language, social anxiety, depression, and mentions of self-harm.
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I've been an insecure and bulimic teen since I was thirteen.
If I eat, I cry. If I smile, it's fake. If I laugh, it's just an act. Don't get easily fooled by my amazing acting and innocent face, because I have a secret.
My two best friends are my pointer finger and middle finger, and it's not for flipping people off. It's for shoving both of them down my throat while I'm sitting over the toilet.
But... Let's just say that my mom came home a bit too well... Early, and heard me, and that leads us to our current situation when I'm sitting in a black leather chair that can spin in circles, which I'm doing right now and I'm smiling because I didn't fall off, yet.
Oh, and did I mention that my new therapist, Levi Ackerman, is staring at me like I have another disorder besides well... The ones I have now?
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None of the characters/images/videos in this story is mine, I only own the plot.